


Adventures in Lap-Sitting

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awkward Boners, Clint Barton's Farm, Fade to Black, First Kiss, Getting Together, Humor, Lap Sitting, M/M, Silly, Steve POV, background Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23140657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: Steve decides that the best way break up Tony and Bruce's argument is to sit on Tony's lap. It works. Other things work, too.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 158
Kudos: 1198
Collections: Scaramouche's Bite-Sized Prompt Ficlets





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon on tumblr who requested "Steve or Tony sitting in the other's lap as a joke".

It’s nice to visit the Barton farm on their own terms, without the threat of world annihilation looming over their heads. A city boy Steve may be, but he gets the appeal of the place – the peace, the quiet, and especially the (comforting illusion of) distance from the never-ending stream of Avengers-related problems back in the city. Here it is calm, and here they can recharge.

Not that the others seem interested in recharging. They’re all outside the house: Natasha and Clint are having an intensely polite disagreement on how to handle the grill, Thor and Sam are chasing and being chased by various Barton kids, and Bruce and Tony seem to be yelling at each other about the chairs.

Steve’s on the porch, a glass of lemonade in his hand. He follows the steps down, into the thick of Bruce’s huffing at Tony.

“That’s my jacket,” Bruce is saying, his hands on his hips. He’s looming over the only deck chair among the series of wooden chairs, in which Tony is sitting in with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“That doesn’t mean dibs,” Tony says. “If you wanted the deck chair—”

“Then I should have put something of mine on it to call dibs? Is that what I should have done?” Bruce looks up at Steve’s approach. “Cap, Tony stole my chair.”

“I already said that we can share,” Tony says.

“There are other chairs, Bruce,” Steve points out.

“It’s the principle of it,” Bruce says quietly.

“Look, right here.” Tony pats his lap. “Is it the view, is that what you want? Come on, make yourself comfy.”

Bruce hums thoughtfully. “What if I Hulk out and _then_ sit on you?”

“Bruce,” Steve says.

“Maybe you can ask Cap to build you another one,” Tony says.

“I thought building things was _your_ specialty,” Bruce says.

“Tony, just let Bruce have the chair,” Steve says.

“Why are you taking his side!” Tony exclaims.

“Because he knows a chair thief when he sees one,” Bruce says. “I could flatten you. Like that.”

“No, you’re what, 170? That’s nothing. Come on.” Tony gestures at himself, while Bruce’s face twists in irritation. “It’s early, but you can tell Santa Stark what you want for Christmas.”

“You’re both being ridiculous.” Steve doesn’t exactly know why he does it. It’s probably a combination of the easy atmosphere, Bruce’s petty seething, Tony’s petty mockery, and the refreshing ridiculousness of their arguing about a _chair_ instead of anything really important, which makes Steve want to take the most nonsensical route as is befitting the situation.

So Steve sits on Tony’s lap.

He does it over Tony’s squawk of surprise, his back facing Tony and his feet flat on the ground, with his knees and Tony’s knees in rough alignment. Steve takes care to spread his weight carefully to avoid squashing him, though the solid muscle of Tony’s thighs really do seem to take his weight just fine.

Bruce blinks a few times. His expression clears. “Okay, this works for me. Enjoy your deck chair.” He happily trots over to another empty chair and sits down.

“Nooooo,” Tony whines, his voice somewhere to the left of Steve’s neck. “I’m being crushed. I’m dying. This is cruel, even for you.”

“The view _is_ nice, actually,” Steve says.

“Not that I can see anything now, thanks,” Tony grumps.

Steve takes another sip of his drink. “Why did Bruce want this chair?”

“He’s just holding a grudge because he thinks I took his chair on the Quinjet earlier,” Tony says.

“Did you?”

“Yeah, but that’s only ‘cause, like, I thought he’d want to sit next to Nat.”

Steve sighs. “Tony.”

“What!” Tony shifts a little, and Steve moves his weight higher up to reduce pressure on Tony’s knees. It’s kind of nice, actually – Tony’s lap is firm but with some cushiony give, though Steve will definitely get up in a minute or so once his point is made. “So if Bruce thinks I just have a weird chair-stealing fixation, then he can keep on believing that I’m dumb enough to not have noticed that _that_ thing is going on.”

“Or maybe you can just not interfere at all,” Steve suggests.

“Oh please, like you haven’t _not_ done anything yourself.”

“I haven’t been reduced to stealing furniture, no.”

“I have lows that will surprise even you.” Tony pauses. “As do you, apparently.”

Steve laughs under his breath. “Yeah.” He glances over at Bruce, who’s made his comfortable sitting in one chair, and his legs propped up on another. “Okay, Bruce is looking better, so please don’t antagonize him any more than necessary, all right?”

Steve starts to move his weight forward onto his feet but is stopped by Tony’s quiet: “No, Steve, wait, wait.” Tony’s voice is urgent and barely above a whisper. His hands come to Steve’s waist, fluttering lightly as though unsure if he’s allowed to touch or not. “Just – just don’t move yet, okay?”

Steve immediately tenses up, his first thought being that he’s hurt Tony. He carefully inches to the side a little, hoping to ease the pressure on Tony’s lap, and this is when he feels something twitch under his right buttcheek.

Steve freezes, Tony freezes, and the whole world briefly takes on the shocking glow of revelation, before it fades and devolves back to a relaxed and scenic daytime barbecue. A couple of yards away, Thor is holding Mjolnir out and letting a pair of the Barton kids swing from the handle.

“Ah.” Steve adds quickly, “Tony, it’s okay. You don’t need to freak out.”

“Me?” Tony says. “You think I’m the one who should be freaking out?”

Steve rolls his eyes, though Tony can’t see it. “I’m afraid to have to tell you this, but your appreciation of my ass is not subtle.”

“Okay fair, but, uh… that’s just, you know, aesthetic appreciation and this is, um…”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Steve says gently. “You want to me stay until it goes down? I can tell you some bad jokes, if it helps? Sam told me some doozies the other day.”

Tony doesn’t reply. Steve moves again, only to find that the tell-tale length feels rather more solid than it was five seconds ago.

“Wait, really?” Steve says in disbelief.

“It’s sexy, okay!” Tony hisses. “When you’re sweet and thoughtful it’s really sexy! If you want to help, you need to not _do_ anything or _say_ anything.”

“All right. Oh.” Steve shuts his mouth and keeps it shut. At least, he tries to keep it shut and be quiet, but he’s compelled to say out loud, “Sexy? Really?”

“You know what does _not_ help? You saying that word.”

“Sexy? Or sex?”

“Steve!” Tony digs his fingers into Steve’s sides, making him half-yelp half-laugh. “Come on, you’ve been really mean to me today!”

“All right, sorry.” Steve releases a slow, calming exhale. “I’m sorry, I’ll be nice.” Then, because he can’t help himself from grabbing a once-in-a-blue-moon chance, “Just like how your thighs are nice.”

“Steve!” Tony exclaims. “Uh. Really?”

“Very solid.” Steve nods. “Comfy.”

“Oh. Thanks. I mean, I try not to miss leg day.”

“Excellent results.”

“Cool. Very cool. Yep. Okay, you can get off—I mean, you can…” Tony groans, which is Steve’s cue to slide off of Tony’s lap entirely and park his butt on the significantly less-warm and less-comfy slats of the deck chair.

Tony swings his legs over to one side and plants his feet on the ground, so that they’re effectively sitting by side. Tony doesn’t cross his legs, but Steve can see that he wants to.

They sit like that for a handful of weighty seconds, while the smell of the grill wafts over. Someone might even have yelled that the food is ready, not that Steve’s been paying attention.

Steve clears his throat. “You feeling better?”

“Yep,” Tony says. “Much. Thanks. But I think I’ll stay here for a while.”

“You want me to get a plate for you?”

“You would?” Tony _definitely_ aborts crossing his legs just then, which is all sorts of flattering. “Yeah, that’d be nice, thanks.”

Steve stands up. He could go and will go, but Tony’s starting to look miserable, which just won’t do. “Okay,” Steve says, firmly but kindly, “I am sorry that I made you uncomfortable—”

“Geez, Steve,” Tony sighs.

“—but would it make you feel better if I had one, too?”

“I don’t…” Tony trails off, his eyes widening. He slowly looks up at Steve. “You do?”

“Not right now, but I could.” This is 100% the wrong place for this, but isn’t it just like Steve’s life to dangle opportunities at the most inopportune moment. “For you. If it’d make you feel better.” Steve wills meaning into the words, and doubly wills Tony to understand.

“I… think it would,” Tony says slowly. “But not right now. Like you said.”

“Later?” Steve says, just to be sure.

Tony nods. “Later. Okay. Yeah.”

Steve smiles, and feels a leap in his chest when Tony responds with a dazed smile of his own.

“Good,” Steve says softly, and bounds off to get some lunch for both of them.

Though Steve’s enhanced hearing means that he still catches Tony’s under-the-breath, “What just happened?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess because a get-together fic isn't complete until there's kissing? So here's another chapter.

A promise is a promise, which is why later that night Steve finds himself standing outside the guest room that’s Tony’s for the weekend. The door’s closed and the light’s on, and Steve can hear Tony shuffling around inside.

It’s late now, and everyone’s tired out by the good meal, the movie-watching and accompanying board game ruckus, to call it a day. The last time the Avengers stayed over, they’d had to double up, and coincidentally Steve had to share this very room with Tony that time. This time, however, Steve’s been placed on the pull-out couch in the living room, while the others are spread out in other rooms that have been made available thanks to the Barton kids’ camping outside.

It’s odd for Steve to be aware that he might not be using the couch tonight. Maybe.

He knocks.

Tony pulls the door open a few inches, squints out suspiciously, and backs away to let Steve in.

Steve obliges, and closes the door behind him.

A few details immediately stand out. The room is much the same as the last time Steve was here, but the bed covers have been changed and Tony has less compulsion about throwing his things – jacket, pants, laptop, toiletries – on any available flat surface. Tony himself seems ready to bunk down, with his dark tank and sweatpants, though Tony usually prefers to sleep in shorts.

Steve prefers shorts, too. In fact, he is _in_ said sleep shorts, though he’s kept his shirt on, because there’s such a thing as being presumptuous, regardless of what else was said earlier today, and the (hopefully meaningful and encouraging) looks Steve has been giving Tony throughout the evening.

Tony seemed to understand those looks, and at the time Steve thought that the tension he’d read off of Tony was anticipation.

Now, with Tony half-turned away from him and making a face at his open weekend suitcase, Steve is less sure.

Perhaps he needs to repeat his intentions.

Steve takes a handful of clearly-telegraphed steps towards Tony. He lifts a hand, at first with the aim to put it on Tony’s shoulder, but a shoulder-touch is too nondescript, isn’t it? So Steve adjusts his angle and sets his hand onto the juncture of Tony’s neck to his shoulder. His fingers and palm settle firmly on skin, and he tops it off with the deliberate, stroking rest of his thumb on Tony’s clavicle.

 _There_ , Steve thinks with satisfaction. Sure, it’s not seductive, but it’s a nudge at the gates to check on his level of welcome.

Tony does not jump at the touch, but he does blink rapidly at nothing. His eyes eventually turn to focus on Steve’s face.

Steve takes a breath. “So—”

“This is the weirdest fucking booty call on the planet,” Tony blurts out.

“Oh, okay.” Steve relaxes. “You do know why I’m here.”

“Yes, obviously,” Tony drawls, thick with sarcasm, “I do not spontaneously forget when someone makes a pass at me. I mean, okay, I _have_ , but that’s usually when it’s from people I don’t know, or I’m not paying attention to, so.”

“And you were paying attention, in this case.”

“You do realize how weird this is?” Tony says slowly. “You literally coming here, into my room for…”

“Sex,” Steve finishes for him with extra relish, as he realizes how much he’s enjoying Tony’s reaction. It’s always a treat to get Tony on the back foot, and the more so by encroaching on an area that Tony’s claimed as his specialty. “Is it weird, though?” Steve takes in the room, the state of their clothing, and the fact that there’s still a great deal of empty space between himself and Tony. “I can’t say that I’m an expert on how this goes, but I was kind of hoping that you wouldn’t be so—”

“What? So what?”

“Raring for a fight? I mean, of course there must be people who are into that—”

“Oh my god,” Tony chokes.

“—but I don’t think that’s for me. Not today, anyway?” Steve watches the red bloom rise attractively over Tony’s face, and smiles hopefully. “Do you want me to sit on you again? Will that help?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes. He seems utterly astonished, as though he hadn’t expected Steve to come here at all, or for things to get this far. Surely Tony would know by now that there are some things Steve would never joke about, and this being one of them.

“Or you can change your mind.” Steve removes his hand from Tony’s neck and carefully leans back. “That’s okay. You know that’s okay, right?”

“Of course it is,” Tony mumbles under his breath.

Steve frowns. “Yes, that’s the point.”

“But, c’mon,” Tony blusters with new energy, “you couldn’t ask me out for a night on the town first? Put a little energy into some sweet-talking?”

“Oh! Did you… want that?”

Tony, now scowling at a spot on the wall, shrugs.

It’s Steve’s turn to go warm, partly out of surprise, partly from embarrassment. The bodily reaction starts with a prickle up the back of Steve’s neck, and this prickle overflows up to his face in a flush, like a rash. Perhaps not _exactly_ like a rash, but it certainly makes him want to fidget and twitch, in the hopes of buying some time before he can come up with a response that won’t ruin everything.

Here's an opportunity. It’s not exactly the opportunity he thought it was, because why dream of the moon when the horizon’s already one hell of a distance away?

Steve realizes that Tony’s looking at him. His head’s tilted at an angle, which gives the impression that he’s sneaking a glance, except there’s that familiar too-sharp, too-daring scrutiny in his eyes.

“Okay.” Steve nods and straightens up. He smiles and takes another preparatory breath. “Hey, Tony. This might be a little out of the blue but I was wondering, would you like to, uh…” He thinks quickly. “There’s that place you’ve mentioned a few times, the one with the quiches you like. I think it’d be nice to… wait.” Steve holds a hand out, as though to erase chalk from the invisible blackboard of his speech. “Hey Tony. _I_ am curious about that place that you mentioned that does the quiches you like, so would you be interested in taking me… wait, no.”

Tony’s lips quirk.

“Wait, no, I’ve got this!” Steve insists. “I would like to take you out! If you’re… interested in being taken out. By me. To, uh.”

“That place that does the quiches I like?” Tony ventures.

Steve sighs. “All right. Just give me a sec.” He turns.

“Where you going?” Tony asks.

“Do over.” Steve gets a hand around the doorknob and has it halfway turned when he feels the light press of a hand on his back. He jolts in surprise, and when he turns Tony’s right there, no more than arm’s length away and – oh – he’s doing that thing with his mouth where he’s putting only minimal effort into stopping himself from grinning.

“Do over,” Tony echoes, his tone teasing instead of mocking. “Why’s it easier for you to offer a boner trade than ask me out?”

“Different stakes.”

Tony blinks slowly, a hypnotic sweep of his eyelashes down and up that Steve cannot look away from. Though Tony doesn’t physically nod, there’s a quiet agreement in the steadiness of his gaze.

“Thursday,” Tony says.

“What?”

“I’m free on Thursday.”

“Oh, right.” Steve pats his shorts, only to realize that he left his phone outside. But that’s okay, because his _actual_ memory is excellent, and he can recall the week’s schedule once he takes two seconds to stop his thoughts from tumbling all over themselves in trying to imagine what an actual date with Tony would be like.

“Thursday’s good for me,” Steve says. “Thank you. It’ll be fun.”

Tony’s smile, already broad, just broadens further when Steve starts to move for the door again. “Where are you going now?”

“To… bed? Clint got the couch open and everything.” Steve isn’t being facetious. The conversation has changed, and with it Steve’s purposefulness, because Thursday is almost a week to go and Steve could do with the extra time to become better prepared for the idea of Tony being willing to – wanting to – _things_. Other things.

That said, Steve isn’t all that surprised when Tony takes two steps towards him now – two perfectly even steps that are the right length to back Steve up against the door, where Steve’s shoulders thump against the wood. Tony’s eyes are sharp and focused and oddly calm; whatever he reads in Steve’s face has him making a laugh-like _huh_ sound under his breath.

Steve’s breath rushes out through a too-tight throat in a surprised huff. Tony’s lips are warm and dry, but Steve doesn’t catch their taste at this first kiss. Most of his sensory attention is focused on the prickle of Tony’s facial hair against Steve’s chin and upper lip, and the light brush of Tony’s fingers on Steve’s waist.

The next kiss, though? That’s better. Especially when Tony presses in boldly, his mouth slanting to find a daring fit against Steve’s, and Steve gets to taste him all he wants.

This is also somewhat of a relief, because Steve doesn’t think that his earlier attempts at seduction were going well at all. Of course Tony would know what to do – how to box Steve in, and lick into his mouth, and get Steve gasping with the deliberate rub of his thumbs against Steve’s waist.

“Huh.” Tony draws back, his breath warm on Steve’s lip. He looks up at Steve, contemplative. “You weren’t kidding.”

Steve didn’t even realize he was getting hard, but there it is, and Tony’s pressed a thigh firmly against it. Steve nods solemnly, as though that was his plan all along. “I _did_ say.”

“So you did.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

Tony, who’s all the more handsome for the grin on his face, twists both hands into Steve’s shirt and yanks him away from the door.

Steve goes along happily, because it isn’t often that the two of them agree on a good idea.

+

The living room’s been converted into a sleeping area for the night, though when Clint comes downstairs to check on things as a good host (as per Laura’s instructions), he finds Thor pulling the large cushions off the pull-out couch and tossing them towards the corner Thor earlier declared his ‘campsite’ for the night.

“What are you doing?” Clint says.

“The Captain has forfeited his cushions,” Thor says. “So I’m taking them.”

“Forfeited – what?” Clint tries to grab the last cushion from the couch frame, but Thor’s too fast and tosses it with casual accuracy onto the growing pile in the corner.

“He and Stark are having sex in the guest room at the back,” Thor says.

“They’re what?” Clint says, just as Bruce appears around the corner from the kitchen, a glass of water in hand, and says, “Is that a euphemism?”

“Yes, it is a euphemism,” Thor says. “For fucking.”

“Hey,” Clint says automatically.

“None of the kids are in the house,” says Natasha, from where she’s perched on one of the upper steps of the stairs. “It’s fine.”

“Look,” Clint tells Thor with an eyeroll, “if you just needed more pillows, you can just ask. Earth hospitality and all that, yeah?”

Bruce and Natasha watch as Clint makes his way down the hallway to the back of the house. Thor does not watch Clint at all, being preoccupied as he is with the cushiony building blocks of his corner-room campsite.

It’s not that long before Clint returns to the scene, eyes wide. He puts his hands on his hips. “Steve’s in Tony’s room and they’re… doing the do.”

“As I said,” Thor says.

“Whoa,” Bruce says. “Really?”

Clint shrugs. “Either that or someone’s installed a trampoline in there.”

“An unnecessary analogy,” Bruce says.

Natasha hums. “You’ll have to disinfect the whole room.”

“Man,” Clint says a sigh. “I have to disinfect the whole room.”

“I’m sure Rogers will ensure that their coupling will be hygienic,” Thor says kindly. “And that they do not destroy anything of your humble abode.”

“Not helping,” Clint says.

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on tumblr!](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/612567339574181888/hi-if-youre-alright-with-a-request-can-you-do)


End file.
